


Westward into the Sunset... or to Fall Off the Ends of the Earth

by Rynfinity



Series: The March of the Damned [10]
Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - Human, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Rimming, Sibling Incest, Substance Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-09
Updated: 2014-07-13
Packaged: 2018-02-08 02:34:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1923465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rynfinity/pseuds/Rynfinity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And what exactly is occupying the remaining 15% of that famed Laufeyson concentration?  Well, if you must know, that would be the (fruitless) search for a way to stealthily touch <i>himself</i> without catching Thor's attention.</p><p>Because Thor sure as fuck isn’t the only one enjoying this particular outing.</p><p> </p><p>This is a direct sequel to <i>Sometimes Life is Hardest when Nothing is Happening</i> and will make the most sense read after its predecessors. </p><p>This story takes place in the same AU and timeframe as <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/1398445/chapters/2931115">Pull</a> from <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/series/104813">Out of the Mouths of Babes</a>; unlike the Babes stories, this one is told from Loki's point of view.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Why work on things when you can screw?

Loki watches Thor intently, somewhere around 85% focused on the way his brother's body is reacting. He's not usually allowed this particular dynamic - the chance to be the one setting the pace, selecting the entertainment, making the moves, gauging the impact - and damned if he isn't going to enjoy every minute of it.

It isn't that Thor doesn't normally care about Loki's needs. Not at all. It's the other way around, actually; everything is too much about _servicing_ Loki, about pleasuring Loki, about getting Loki off or calming Loki down. Time after time after time, it’s invariably Thor taking care of Loki one way or another.

Loki, on the other hand, pretty much never gets to enjoy taking care of _his_ brother... or taking _his_ brother apart, piece by messy, glorious piece.

Tonight, for whatever unknown reason, that's exactly what he's doing – driving, steering, holding the proverbial reins - and Loki fully intends to take every possible advantage of the gift he’s been given.

And what exactly is occupying the remaining 15% of that famed Laufeyson concentration? Well, if you must know, that would be the (failed, so far) search for a way to stealthily touch _himself_ without catching Thor's attention.

Because Thor sure as fuck isn’t the only one enjoying this particular outing.

~

They're both stripped naked, up on the bed. Loki has dimmed the bedroom lights as low as they go; a thick green pillar candle on Thor's nightstand casts the room, and both of them with it, into warm, flickering shadow.

Loki is perched neatly between his brother's spread legs, haunches in the air, supporting himself with one arm and making quite the show of _licking_ the other. He’s not flinging his tongue around aimlessly, either, by any stretch of the imagination; rather, he is - with as much lewd enthusiasm as he can manage (and that happens to be quite a lot; never let it be forgotten that he once did this sort of thing for a living) – tracing very precisely over the healed scars extending the length of his forearm. More specifically he is by turns skimming and lapping, alternating softly delicate touches with broad swipes, just like he would if he was making quick work of someone's dick.

Thor for his part is resting back on both elbows, trying (unsuccessfully) to pretend he's watching nonchalantly. If that particular lame ruse wasn't already blown by simple virtue of his stupidly ecstatic expression, Thor’s rock-hard dick, standing proud above the rippling muscles of his belly to drip and twitch with every move of Loki's mouth, gives him away entirely.

Not that his brother much bothers with subterfuge in bed to start with.

As he finishes tracing the runes near his elbow Loki curls gracefully up to kneeling, repositioning himself to give Thor a better view of the action. He runs his tongue slowly, slowly over the letters of his brother's name - first the T, then the H, O, and R – before finally dragging his tongue wet and sloppy across the palm of his hand. Thor’s breath catches when Loki takes two of his own fingers into his mouth and sucks them hard. The look on his brother’s face is so perfect. Loki hums happily and sucks again, letting his eyelids droop and his cheeks hollow out. It’s not long before Thor has to look away.

His perfect, perfect brother - cheeks blushing beautiful glowing red in the candlelight, lower lip trapped roughly between his teeth and eyes hidden between those long golden lashes - looks like something straight out of the sort of wild Anglo-Saxon erotica no one ever painted.

Because they were all too busy fucking and killing each other in those days to bother with the finer things in life.

Hah.

Thor moans. It sounds awfully, awfully close to pained and Loki has to forcibly remind himself to _get back to work already._

~

"You like that, don't you," he teases a couple of minutes later, sporting the biggest ever shit-eating grin, after pulling both fingers out of his mouth with a loud, filthy pop. "You want not to,” he adds triumphantly as Thor writhes helpless in front of him, “You want to be above things like that but you aren't, are you?” _And it’s one of the things I treasure most about you, brother_ , he adds silently, just to himself. “Knowing your _name_ is carved into my flesh and watching me make love to it simply drives. you. wild," he goads his brother – and it’s okay, more than okay, because it’s driving _him_ wild as well – all the while inching slowly forward and sinking one hard nip after another into Thor's left inner thigh.

"Fuck, Loki... stop," his brother growls, entire body jerking and twitching. It’s a lovely, lovely thing, well worth every bit of work. "I can't- I can't-," Thor starts to explain, then gives up and trails off into wordless sputtering.

"Oh, I think you can," Loki tells him, lips just brushing his brother’s balls. "I think you like it all the more because you know you shouldn't."

For the record, normally, he’s not a huge fan of having his mouth full of hairy, sweaty scrotum – it’s every last bit as disgustingly unsexy as it sounds, seriously – but this time, for Thor, he’s willing to make a workably-cheerful exception. He rolls one of his brother’s nuts with his lips and tongue, sucking not at all gently, until Thor outright howls.

Loki takes the opportunity to come up for air. "You like knowing that you own me," he tells his brother sweetly, and then dives back in and lavishes the same attention on Thor’s other testicle. That’s about where his resolve – to drag this out as long as he can, and to _not_ get caught up in it himself – starts to fail.

Okay, fails completely.

He takes his brother’s dick in his mouth and his own in his hand and-.

"Too- too soon," Thor babbles. “Stop.”

_Now, Thor? Really?_

Loki kneels up, wiping his mouth with the back of one hand. "Oh, I'm sorry,” he tells his brother, laughing and breathless and just this side of annoyed. “Am I too good at this?"

"Too cocky about it, you mean," Thor kids. He’s panting shallowly. His timing is beyond awful, and Loki bites him to reward his smart mouth. "Ouch," Thor complains. "I only- I meant I won't last like that."

_Ohhhh._

"And tonight you want to," Loki affirms.

The whole thing is so, so fucking hot. He’s pretty much lost the plot now; nobody’s steering this thing at all.

"Okay,” he agrees. “Slow it is, then." He curls down to kiss Thor’s dick. If he takes it down again there isn’t going to be any stopping him. "Do you want to finish in my mouth, when the time comes," Loki makes himself ask nicely first, because he’s trying so hard not to make this all about himself, "or can I ride you?"

Okay, yeah, so much for not making it… _whatever_. Road to hell and good intentions and so on and let’s just get on with this already.

Thor takes a few too many seconds – like, five - to decide; in the end Loki simply cannot wait any longer. By the time his brother interrupts him with "ride," it takes more restraint to make himself pull off than Loki would have thought he had in him.

So much, in fact, that Thor owes him bigtime: "Then you, my dear, have a job to do," Loki informs his gasping brother. "Here," he says, balancing himself carefully, "watch your face."

He swings a leg over, flips around, and then settles himself and gets right back down to sucking Thor off. Well, almost off; he’s been promised more, and he fully intends to collect.

If he lasts that long.

Which he almost doesn’t, not once Thor gets with the program. In all these years his brother has never once rimmed him before, not even a quick flick over the general vicinity… but Loki’s been on the giving end plenty of times and - he thinks, when he can think at all (which is not often and not for long, not with Thor’s dick half down his throat and Thor’s tongue hot and slippery in his ass) - it’s abundantly clear said brother has been taking exceptionally careful notes.

~

In the end he gets to ride his brother for _maybe_ all of two minutes before they’re both done for, one right after the other.

Never before has anything been so fucking worth it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sif shares something with Loki _first_.
> 
> Which doesn't sound like a big deal, but is...

"You want to bring me take-out for dinner? Just me, no Thor? Why?" This sort of thing really never happens, not since he moved in with his brother, and - even with this being _Sif_ , who is usually completely harmless and on the level - Loki can't shake off his mistrust. "Did Thor put you up to this?"

Sif laughs. "No, he most certainly did not,” she says emphatically. “Come on, I’m hungry; what do you want?"

_You, to tell me what's going on_ , Loki doesn't say. She’s leaning against the doorframe casually enough, hands tucked in her pockets, but something about Sif’s expression isn't quite right. She's tense, and working hard at hiding it. "What's wrong," he tries again, because he’s absolutely positive something is.

"Nothing," she says. "Nothing's wrong. Really. It isn’t like that." She smiles and reaches out to squeeze his arm lightly. "Look at you, you suspicious thing. I’m serious," she adds when he simply stands there in wary silence, "I just want to talk to you. Over _dinner_ , and sooner rather than later."

Loki goes for a fresh approach - "Oh no! Are we pregnant," he jokes, making fake Shocked Face and then forcing himself to laugh as naturally as he can - and earns himself a sharp swat in exchange. "It was worth a try." He shrugs. She isn’t going to concede this one, it seems. Not easily. "Fine, fine,” he gives in. Mostly. “If you're going to be that way, I want sushi."

She makes a face, sure, but she _agrees_.

Now? Now he's _really_ worried.

~

Loki had paced the entire time Sif'd been gone. He’d even tried multitasking and had texted Thor – he knows the two of them, Sif and his brother, had planned to eat lunch together today, so it only stands to reason said brother _knows something_ \- but that had gone precisely nowhere.

He’s still pacing now.

Fuck them all. He doesn't need to be coddled - or jerked around; it's hard to tell the difference sometimes - like this. Doesn’t need it, doesn’t appreciate it, won’t tolerate-.”

When the buzzer sounds, Loki jumps straight in the air.

~

"Okay, now, _tell me_ " he demands as they set out their food. He’s trying to remind himself that what feels like anger isn’t; it’s anxiety, and he doesn’t need to take it out on her. Not without reason, certainly. Trying, not succeeding: he’s jacked as hell and the whole business just isn’t working out so well. "California Roll doesn’t actually count as sushi, anyway," he points out a little nastily, shoving the plate in her direction.

"Shut it, you," she teases. She flatly ignores his attitude problem; even so, he can still feel the tension rolling off her. "I got you your share of gross raw dead fish, don't worry. Here, sit," she suggests, patting the sofa. "Dig in, before I start gagging."

~

"I've gotten a job offer out of state," she finally tells him, which isn’t anything close to what he was expecting. "A good one. Very, very good. But I don't want to abandon my little family here." Sif shrugs, shoulders up around her ears. "I can’t do that to the two of you,” she stresses. “Not after everything we’ve been through together. I told Thor to think about it and let me know, because I don't want either one of you rushing into an unwise decision."

"A decision about what," Loki asks. It's not like they're the ones hiring her.

She shoots him a funny little sideways look. "Well, first and foremost, whether the two of you will be okay here without me. But I also had an idea... one I haven’t mentioned to Thor."

Loki sets what was about to be his next big bite of sushi down. "Do tell," he encourages her, giving her his best doe-eyed, eager, loveable face. He's always a total sucker for a good secret, especially one to which his darling brother isn't privy.

"You could both come with me. Don't laugh," she admonishes, which is fine because laughing is the farthest thing from his mind. "I know you've both been thinking about leaving, in the abstract at least, ever since your fa- since _Odin_ started sniffing around again."

She's not wrong. Their Plan B, albeit vague and nebulous, has indeed centered on getting out of this place. They've been intending to wait until (the shit hits the fan for real, or) Loki has finished day treatment, but... there must be decent options for that elsewhere.

Anna would know. 

He can feel a little twist of excitement building in his chest.

It could be awesome. It really, really could be. Like the other time's he's started over, only with a whole lot less damning – not to mention _damaging_ \- baggage.

"I'm not laughing," he assures her. He isn’t. "It's actually a really good idea."

Her face lights up. Loki can't remember Sif looking this relieved in _forever_. "Really," she kind of squeals, "You think so? You're willing to give it a try?"

_Of course,_ he almost tells her, but he's not really at liberty to make that sort of commitment. "As long as Thor is," he tells her instead. He's not sure he can imagine his brother leaving here forever; it didn't work out so well the first time, after all, not with Jane. He expects some deflation, but Sif's enthusiasm doesn't dim. Not noticeably. Not at all.

He’d like to take his cue from her. Except it’s _Thor_. His brother is not always particularly logical.

"Oh thank _god_ ," she breathes, like everything is so much better, and she sounds completely sincere. "You have _no_ idea how badly this has been stressing me."

He probably does have a good idea, actually, but he opts not to say so. "It's my brother you need to convince," he reminds her, "not me. These days I pretty much just go where I'm told."

She wrinkles her nose at him. "Oh, I know," she says, smug enough to be his for-real sister. "Why do you think I wanted to ask you first?"

_Oh._

"I really did mean what I said," he assures her, since it appears she actually cares. About him, personally. About what he _wants_. No one does that, not ever.

She wipes her hand on a napkin and reaches over to ruffle his hair. "I know."

~

Sif is gone, headed home to get ready for work, quite some time before Thor's key finally turns in the lock. Loki has his nose buried in a magazine. Even so, he can't completely hide his smirk as his brother edges tentatively in from the hall. "It's okay," he says, mouth still half-quirked. "As you can see, your baby brother has failed to live up to expectations and has neither flipped any lids nor blown any gaskets."

The nervous tension drains slowly out of Thor's face, out of his posture, leaving behind only- only _sorrow_. "I'm going to really miss her," he says unhappily.

Loki should resist the urge to be an asshole; he really should. Buoyed by the knowledge that his very real friend has his back, though, he just can't (doesn't try to) stop himself. Not this once. Not completely. "Oh," he scoffs, "I'm sure you're not thrilled to be losing your number one _babysitter_. Whatever will you _do?_ "

"That's not the point," Thor insists, but the way his eyes dart away - left, right, anywhere that isn't Loki - guarantees he's not being entirely truthful.

"You're such a bad liar," Loki tells his brother. "Now do you mind? I'm reading." _The Brothers Odinson, trading in hypocrisy since- since before the earth’s crust cooled._

Thor frowns at him. “So you’re just fine with her leaving, plain and simple?”

Loki snorts. “Of course,” he says, making a game-day decision to shelve his secret for another time; he wants to relish having it all to himself a little longer. “What do you take me for, brother?”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes carelessly wielded tongues cause more damage than do fists.
> 
> Or, everyone is stressed and Thor steps in the stupid.
> 
>  
> 
> Lots and lots of pain here...

"Okay," Thor concedes after a surprisingly lackluster defensive effort, "we can try that.” It’s a surrender for which Loki isn’t properly prepared; he doesn’t really _want_ to do couples counseling, like they’re two disillusioned suburbanites from the Valium generation, and he’d been secretly counting on his brother to do the dirty work of refusing it. “Does your therapist have anyone in mind?"

“Yes," Loki says, because he’s in this about five steps too far to get away with a lie now. "She does. She gave me the name of a guy who she claims is _really good with unusual situations,_ " he goes on, adding a nice set of big, sarcastic air quotes. Because if creepy power-mismatched incest doesn’t qualify, he’s not sure what does.

He’s not sure he’s really intending to piss Thor off. Then again, he’s not sure he _isn’t_ , either. He’s still beyond aggravated that his brother is taking this all so easily in stride.

"Unusual," Thor scoffs, not quite as calm now. He cocks an eyebrow like whatever’s wrong with them is all Loki.

"Well, there's not exactly a support group out there for _gay psychos catching for their big, gay, angry brothers,_ now," he says a little too shrilly, egged on by the look on his brother’s face, "is there?"

Thor expression goes blank, like a mannequin. "I'm not gay."

"Oh, excuuuuuse me," Loki says, because leave it to his brother to choose this moment to get all picky over labels. "I stand corrected,” he snaps. “ _Big BI angry brothers._ You lawyers with your goddamned verbal precision." He folds his arms across his chest and makes a grand show of rolling his eyes.

"No, not that either," Thor says, with jarring finality. "Not gay, not bi."

His ears are starting to ring, but Loki plows resolutely on under the increasingly shaky pretense that this is all a misunderstanding. "Ummm, I'm fairly confident you've noticed that I _have this,_ " he points out, clutching his own dick through his clothing, " _considering how often you've had your mouth around it._ “ He glares defiantly at his brother. "What, pray tell, _do_ you call it?"

"I don't," Thor says.

"You _don't,_ " Loki responds dully. "You're fucking a _man_ , Thor. You've been fucking a man your entire adult life. What _else_ can you call it?" This whole awful discussion is starting to make him feel physically ill.

"I have _not_ ," his brother insists. Just ask Loki opens his own mouth to protest, Thor goes on: "I've been fucking _you._ "

For several moments Loki is actually rendered speechless. "Oh," he finally manages, when his brain catches up to his ears and he realizes the full implication of what he’s just heard. "So what am _I,_ then, _brother_ , in the cramped quarters inside your head? Am I a girl? Am I an animal? Am I a _monster?_ " He doesn’t even bother to try and keep his voice down. "Or am I just your goddamned _pity fuck_ , Thor?"

He uncrosses his arms, the movement sharp and desperate. He fists both hands and steps closer, knowing it’s a risky, risky move but well beyond caring. "Is that it? No one will fuck the poor little crazy faggot, so big brother Thor has to swallow down his pride and be the one who takes care of it?! Have I got the picture now,” he screams. “Is that it, brother?," He grabs the front of Thor’s shirt hard enough to pull his brother off-balance. " _IS IT??_ "

“No, it isn’t,” Thor says softly, taking hold of both of Loki’s hands. Like he’s still pretending he _cares_ somehow.

Loki yanks himself free. “I hate you, you motherfucking hypocritical asshole,” he snarls, too upset now to even really yell properly.

When he stomps off down the hall, his brother doesn’t follow.

~

Ears still protesting the shock of the furiously slammed the bedroom door, Loki drops to hands and knees hard enough to really _hurt._ The force of the landing is nearly enough to tear the thin-stretched skin over his kneecaps; as it is, the right one throbs painfully to the same beat thudding in his cheat and roaring in his head.

 _So now I know how it is,_ he congratulates himself, sardonically. _He doesn't love me any more than anyone else does(n't). He's just been fucking me out of the same old misguided sense of duty that's driven every one of his actions since he grew up - unlike yours truly - and became a man. A man who isn't even turned on by other men_ , he reminds himself sourly.

All these times they've rolled together, all these times Loki has believed Thor lost to the same elemental pull he himself feels... _and my asshole brother has probably still been fucking Sif in the fantasyland behind his eyes,_ he thinks, equal parts furious and utterly crushed.

Loki is at once so hot he's consumed by the raging flames and yet so icy cold inside it feels like- like dying. Literally. It’s very like the eerie cold emptiness that steals over you in that last couple of minutes of consciousness, before the blood left circulating in your body - the drops and streams and trails of it that have yet to mix with the water lapping your shins and staining your thighs - is no longer enough to sustain you.

He lets himself collapse the rest of the way to the floor, ignoring the sharp twinned bursts of pain as shoulder and cheekbone smack against the hard surface. _I fought to stay alive,_ he berates himself, _like the motherfucking idiot I always swore to god I could never, ever be, for what? For a goddamned lie. For the ridiculous belief,_ which - all this time, lulled into an unwarranted sense of security - he's let Thor fucking encourage, _that my perfect brother could ever actually want anything like this._

 _Anything like me_. Loki sucks in a ragged, juddering breath. Tears of pure, blinding fury - of a hatred so intensely present it's paralyzing - burn his eyes but somehow stubbornly refuse to fall. _I could have been dead for years now. I could have been free. But no. For all my supposed brilliance I fell for the oldest trick in the Mighty and Noble Thor's fucking arsenal._

 _He doesn't love me,_ he goads himself, because nothing this loathed, this revolting deserves the least leftover crumbs of kindness. _He never did. He just can't call himself a hero if he stands by and lets the poor lost beast fall._

Loki stops for a moment, breathing hard: still nothing.

 _My brother finds me disgusting_ , he tries instead. _Grotesque. Just like everyone else, he doesn't even see me as a man._ Which makes sense, because men are strong and beautiful and full of resolve. Stolid. Dependable. Like Thor. Like everything Loki will never, ever be. And no one that flawless has any interest in giving a fucking monster - a sick, weak, hideous, twisted, perverse mess of a thing - anything it wants or needs. _He might as well be humping a fucking dog,_ he tells himself, _for all I please him._

 _I'm nothing but a hopeless, worthless freak,_ he screams into the swirling maelstrom inside his own head, _not good enough to live but too fucking incompetent to die._

He coughs, and that hurts too, so he does it again and again until he isn’t sure he can stop. _And more than anything it should be me that died,_ he goes on, just short of gagging, shivering uncontrollably on the bare floorboards, _and not- and not Frig- and not mother._

And that? That does it. Finally, the tears come: dreadful full-body sobs that blank out his vision and shred his throat raw.

Loki cries until it hurts to breathe, with every last shred of bone, sinew, and skin.

And then he cries some more, because all he’s ever deserved is pain.

~

By the time Thor finally knocks, his oddly polite “May I come in?” barely audible over the noise, Loki can’t even begin to pull himself together enough to answer his brother.

“Baby,” Thor says. The gentle touch of his hand is jarring. “I’m so sorry.”

“Fuck you,” Loki rasps, doing his best to scoot away. “Leave me the fuck alone. You’ll get _gay cooties._ ” It’s infantile and not the point at all but he can’t do better. If he could cease to exist, he would. He can’t, though; that would be entirely too fucking easy.

“You’re right, you know,” Thor tells him. “I’m bi, obviously, and of course I realize you’re a guy. I don’t even know why I reacted the way I did. I need to be more honest about it, with you and with myself.”

Loki doesn’t need this. He doesn’t need to hear any of it, doesn’t need his brother here pleading and making nice. He just doesn’t.

“I’m sorry,” Thor repeats, sounding a bit like he may cry himself. “May I please touch you?”

“Suit yourself,” Loki says, shrugging. He wraps himself tightly in what little is left of his own sanity and wills himself to _endure_ this pointless demonstration of his brother’s duty-borne kindness.

Meanwhile, he can always cry.

Can, and does.

~

In the end, he stops bothering. He gives up completely and just lets Thor win.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damage control.

“Are you seriously going to stay here and babysit me?” This morning Thor is acting like the world’s largest bad puppy, the one that peed all over grandma’s gazillion-dollar antique Persian rug and is so, so _very_ shamefaced, but Loki isn’t having any of it. 

Last night he was shattered, plain and simple. This morning he’s pieced things inside his head back together as best he can, but it’s a fragile arrangement – especially considering he’d been awake half the night reassembling - and it’s sapping all his energy. All the energy he _might_ normally apply towards tolerating his brother.

That, and he’s more than a little pissed.

The two things dovetail nicely, unless you are Thor. At which point the whole arrangement probably sucks.

And you know what? Loki just isn’t giving a fuck. Not this morning.

“I’m not babysitting you,” his brother lies. “I only want to be sure you’re okay.”

“Just ducky,” Loki says nastily, making jazz hands. “Peachy keen. Never better. Fan-fucking-tastic. Get out of my way,” he adds, shoving past Thor on his way to the sink without making even the smallest concession to _manners_. “Unlike you, one of us is trying to hurry here.”

“Please, Loki,” his brother starts in, “I’m not trying to bug you, I’m not. I really just want to be sur-.”

“Oh, good, then you won’t mind if I _order you to leave me the fuck alone_ , will you,” Loki snaps. He catches Thor hard with one elbow while reaching for the lever on the toaster. Out of the corner of his eye he can see his brother backing away, hands up in surrender.

He ignores the whole show, going purposefully about his business – which happens to be spreading a thick layer of almond butter over his toast – as though Thor actually isn’t still here.

When Loki turns and makes a beeline for the refrigerator, juice glass in hand, his brother dodges without being asked. Progress.

~

Loki’s phone buzzes; the car is here. _The car_ , because all the best crazies go to day treatment in black town cars like old-time godfathers. Less the bodyguards, sure, but he still gets the driver in the black cap and aviators.

Nothing but the best for Thor’s _femme du jour_ , he thinks, and has to pause to clench his jaw.

 _Just let it go_ , he tells himself. _There really isn’t time._

He knocks back the dregs of his juice, crams the last bite of sticky toast in his mouth, and leaves… with a good, solid slam of the apartment door – thank poor dead baby jesus for rich neighbors who travel – and without any sort of _goodbye_.

If his brother agonizes about the whole shitshow all day, so much the better.

~

“How do you _think_ I felt about it,” Loki huffs. “How would _you_ feel if your lover went and told you that you weren’t a man? Figuratively speaking, I mean,” he amends, smiling despite his prickly anger, “since I have to imagine you’ve never had to face that particular insult.”

Leah smiles a little too, one corner of her mouth curling up. “No, if my lover insisted I wasn’t a man, I don’t know that I’d feel the need to argue. I do know what you meant, though.” She gives him her best serious face, the one that invariably precedes the Conveying of Advice (aka _a lecture_ ) “But what’s really important here-.”

“-is how _I_ feel,” he finishes for her, exasperated, because he knows exactly where this is headed. He doesn’t really want to discuss the whole topic, not the way he’s feeling, but there’s no way he’s going to get out of it. “I know, I know. Fine. I felt like shit. I still feel like shit just thinking about it. I felt like dirt. Like some sort of freak. How can he not know I’m a guy, for fuck’s sake? Rhetorical question,” he adds, holding up a hand. “I’m pretty sure in real life he hasn’t exactly missed that trivial detail.”

“Suppose he somehow did,” Leah suggests. “What does that say about you?”

“That I’m apparently not very manly.”

“Is that how you feel about yourself,” she asks.

Loki frowns. “I know I’m not always particularly traditional, but I- I never feel like I’m not a guy. I mean, I _am_ a guy, so by definition the way I’m thinking and feeling is the way at least some guys think and feel. At least _one_ guy,” he corrects himself, “if I really _am_ that much of an outlier. But even so, that doesn’t make me _not a man._ ”

“No, it doesn’t,” Leah agrees. “And you’re exactly right. Guess what,” she adds, and Loki raises both eyebrows. “Thor doesn’t get to define what being a man means for you. _You_ do.”

He nods. It sounds reasonable.

“So, let me ask you again: What does it say about you if Thor somehow doesn’t consider you a man?” She sets her pen down and folds her hands loosely atop her notepad.

Loki groans. “I know, I know, it doesn’t say _anything_ about me. It’s all about Thor. I’m not stupid, you know,” he complains. “I do know the correct answer.”

“No, you’re certainly not stupid,” Leah agrees. “And I know you know the correct answer… and I also know you know it’s not about that.” She cocks her head to the side and smiles again, just a little.

He does. “This is hard,” he tells her, and she nods. “I see what you mean, that it’s not about me. But knowing it isn’t the same as _feeling_ it.”

“Not yet, no” she admits, picking up her pencil and making a quick note, “but someday, I promise you, it will be.”

~

Between the end of his session and lunch, Loki goes to the day center fitness room and hits the heavy bag until his back muscles scream and his arms shake. By the time he’s near the end of the workout, when his knuckles start to protest despite a good taping and proper gloves, he’s not even picturing his brother in place of the bag anymore.

Afterwards he staggers off to the men’s showers, rivulets of sweat running down his face and chest. _Because of the kind of place this is_ there aren’t any curtains. Tiled dividers separate the individual stalls, and Loki normally prefers to pretend himself a modicum of privacy by keeping his back to the opening.

Today, though, he stands there proudly - with his hair plastered to his head and neck and the water sluicing over him – facing out, chin up, defiantly staring down anyone who makes the mistake of looking in his direction.

By the time he gets himself to the lunchroom, Loki isn’t sure he’s feeling more _manly_ , exactly, but he’s feeling a good sight better.

~

Through some cruel twist of fate, the afternoon’s DBT training is on repairing interpersonal relationships. Specifically, they’re focusing on what it means to be a _giving person_. When the instructor mentions _resentful doormats,_ Loki can’t help it; he snorts aloud. Pot, kettle.

“I think I’m going to have to take this session about sixteen times,” he asserts. Everyone laughs… but he’s not really kidding.

~

On the car ride home he feels- well, wiped out, yes, but also faintly guilty. While he certainly didn’t _deserve_ what happened last night – especially if he takes his cue from Leah – lightning didn’t exactly strike out of a clear blue sky.

Of course, feeling guilty leads to feeling resentful.

Making things better is an awful lot of work.

~

"I love you," Thor says as Loki lets himself in, "and I think you are the sexiest person I've ever seen."

"Really? Now?" Loki raises one eyebrow. He’d showered, yes, but he’s not exactly scenic at this point. "Not-so-fresh from ten hours of fun?"

"Now and always,” his brother assures him. It’s unexpected, especially today, but it’s a whole lot better than more fighting. Especially when his arms are on strike. Loki figures he needs to try a little harder.

"Sentimental sap," he teases fairly gently, really making the effort not to be mean this time. "Or are you just making sure you're still welcome in my pants," he tacks on, to see the look on Thor’s face. Not _very_ mean, anyway.

His brother doesn’t laugh. Or look angry. "My shrink says I should share more of what I'm thinking and feeling. The good stuff, I mean," Thor explains as Loki can’t help but make a wry face. "I probably say a bit too much of the bad stuff already."

 _That you do, brother, that you do._ But Loki himself is no angel; he opts to keep that particular jab to himself. "I was a jerk last night," he offers instead, silently adding _even before you tore my heart to pieces and stomped all over them._ The instructor from this afternoon’s session would frown if he let his outside voice loose on that one.

"Me too," Thor says, and Loki has to concede that it’s probably all for the best – as far as not fighting goes – that he’s managed to keep his mouth effectively shut. "Shall we try for a better evening this time," his brother asks, sounding- anxious. Anxious and sincere.

Loki grins. "We kind of have to; we’d be hard put to make ourselves a worse one." Which, of course, isn’t even close to true. It’s a nice idea, though, just the same.

And Thor actually _surprises_ him: "What do you say we actually cook for a change?" That happens- well, never. Regardless of who is or isn’t manly.

"I thought we were aiming for a _better_ evening," Loki kids, careful to keep smiling; it _does_ sound like a good idea and he wants to see it happen. Maybe it will help.

~

He lets his brother hug him. He even hugs back.

What he pointedly doesn’t do, though, is say _I love you_.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whether or not the water will sink in remains to be seen, but it has at least been spilled.

Loki prefers working with a female therapist – that way the whole process reminds him of fewer awful past encounters - but his care team enthusiastically recommended this guy... and he knows Thor will be more comfortable working with a man. _An actual man,_ he can’t help but think, because he’s still just a shade annoyed about their recent conversation..

All things considered, this is not how he would be choosing to spend his evening… if he had, well, any other choice.

Which he probably kind of does.

_This is important,_ he reminds himself. _Nobody can expect to make a fresh start anywhere this way; not by insisting upon dragging every last infinitesimal scrap of old baggage along for the ride_. And avoiding that particular ugly outcome (one he’s tested out before and not liked, not even a little) means sorting things out with his brother, and soon, however unpleasant the process may be.

Looking at it that way, Loki knows, he essentially does have to do it.

Even so, he doesn’t have to like it.

~

Their body language has got to be downright fucking hilarious, from just about any vantage point outside their twisted little family unit.

They'd started the session, their first _get to know you_ meeting with this new guy, as a study in opposites: Thor plopped right in the middle of the sofa, arms spanning nearly the full width of its back and knees wide apart, feet pulled in and ankles crossed in a largely-failed attempt to avoid taking up the entire room; Loki slumped allll the way to one end, pressed up against the sofa arm and as far out of Thor's reach as he can manage, with arms folded (relatively loosely, in what he hopes is a successful attempt to avoid looking quite so completely like Anxiety Man) and legs - also crossed at the ankle; aww, _brothers_ \- stretched out full-length in front of him.

Thor: _The world is mine, and everybody loves me_.  
Loki: _Leave me the fuck alone_.

Yeah, that pretty much sums it up perfectly. Life as they know it, captured in a neat little tableau.

~

Now, though - after making it through the customary introductions and ground rules in what has to be record time; their individual people have clearly done a good job briefing this therapist - they've gotten right down to the hard stuff. 

Now Loki is spreading out a little and _Thor's_ the one pulling in.

In the interest of full disclosure, Loki has a distinct advantage here; he's done this before (although never with a lover). He's served his time in family counseling - fat lot of good _that_ did - with his- with _Thor's_ parents (Thor had missed out by virtue of being away at school, the lucky bastard), and slogged his through mediation and group work in a stunning variety of contexts.

Thor, on the other hand, hasn't done anything of this sort at all. It won't take him long to catch on; despite Loki's teasing he is a smart guy and an attorney to boot. At the present moment, though, he's the one at a disadvantage.

Loki will never shy away from a chance to sway things in his own favor.

~

"Learning to control my temper," Thor says when asked what he considers to be his primary individual therapeutic goal.

"Mm." The therapist consults their file and makes a quick mark on two pages, one right after the other. "And your main goal for these joint sessions?"

"We're considering a big move,” Thor explains, still calm, “one that will put us hours away from most everything familiar. My- Loki wants to fix a few things between us before we make our final decision around whether or not to leave this city."

"Anything specific for yourself," the therapist prods, which is always one of those _Danger! Danger!_ warnings; the ones that scream _go back, you’re doing it wrong_. All of which is lost on his brother. Loki carefully hides his grin.

Thor makes a show of carefully considering his response before tossing out a simple, casual "nope."

_Sucker_.

It would be more fun watching his brother stumble, though, if Loki didn't hate this sort of joint work so much himself.

~

Unlike Thor, apparently, he has done his homework. Loki has discussed this impending counseling stint at length with Leah and has been sent forth with an agenda: Conquer Rome. Or something. When it's his turn, he's ready.

"I have BPD," he says in response to the first question, because Leah is trying to break him of saying _I am BPD_ and he wants to do her proud. "I'm trying to learn how to better function in society. Oh, and I'm trying not to kill myself." He pointedly ignores Thor's flinch, which in no way means he didn't notice it.

"And your goal for our time together," the therapist asks him - without missing a beat; props to the guy for being hard to fluster, because suicide remarks do it almost every time - as Loki carefully, carefully inches the pin out of the grenade.

"Our relationship has often been unbalanced and, albeit increasingly rarely of late, violent," Loki trots out, his pleasant conversational tone at ugly discord with the topic at hand, "and - while I've been known not to care - my treatment team isn't thrilled about sending me off into the great unknown, all but devoid of outside support, with my abuser."

The pause that follows feels long, very long. It can't actually be more than a couple of seconds, because the therapist hasn't yet spoken when Thor - red-faced and flustered as Loki sneaks a covert peek in his direction – barges in out-of-turn to stammer "Your- your _abuser?_ That’s not- I’m not- how can you even _say_ that, Loki?! I _love_ you."

Something in all this has finally managed to catch the therapist very slightly off-guard, which is far more satisfying than it should be. Than is healthy, even. Loki puts that thought away for later study and instead uses the brief pause (the quiet interlude before his brother’s inevitable smackdown for speaking out of turn arrives) to get in a quick "Thor isn't fond of labels."

Which, yes, is playing a bit dirty considering how much he hates them too. 

"Thor," the therapist reminds his brother (sure enough), retaking control of the discussion, “it's Loki's turn to talk right now. You can rest assured I’ll give you a chance to comment once he's done. And Loki?" He waits patiently for Loki's full, if bright-eyed, attention before continuing. "Please refrain from baiting Thor. Can you do that for me?"

Loki nods. He _can_. Of course he can.

That doesn't mean he _will_.

"Thank you," the therapist offers, thereby proving he can’t read Loki’s naughty little mind. "I know it's hard to resist falling back on old patterns, but that _is_ what you're here to learn to do."

Well, doesn’t _that_ just suck all the fun out of it?

~

"How can you- how can he _say_ that," Thor splutters, looking quickly from Loki to the therapist and back again. He’s still dumbfounded. "I'm not an abuser! I’m not! I’m not _like that_.”

"What was breaking my jaw, then," Loki says, not quite quietly enough to pass for under his breath. "Sorry, sorry," he tells the therapist, before the guy can call him on it. "I'll try to do better. I will."

"Thor," the therapist advises quietly, "if you're not comfortable with the label," – his brother shoots Loki a brief look that's anything but _loving_ \- "why don't we focus on Loki's team's specific concerns instead. All they want is for your partner to be safe."

"And I want that as well,” Thor protests. “But he's obviously already poisoned them against me.”

Oh, that’s especially rich, even for his darling brother.

"Fortunately for you, then," the therapist tells Thor, "it's not them you have to convince. Or me, for that matter. You only need to convince Loki."

That, of course, isn't precisely true - Loki's status is always pretty marginal, and it won't take much for the system to step in on his behalf - but it's true enough for now. True enough, and close enough to impossible that his brother really needn’t bother. 

Thor apparently recognizes that – all of it - as well. His face falls, and then twists as though he’s only just barely keeping a storm at bay. "Great. I'm as good as fucked, then." He gets to his feet, rather abruptly; the sofa’s motion rocks Loki back and forth. "Are we done here?"

"I hope not," the therapist tells his brother nicely.

Loki, for once, wisely opts to say nothing.

~

By the time they leave the office things have been smoothed over somewhat. Thor seems more sad than angry, and Loki is the one in a hurry to get away.

~

“That was mean,” his brother says quietly as they walk back to the car. “You could have at least warned me what was coming, instead of setting me up.”

“It wasn’t about that,” Loki tells him, because he’s tired now and no longer in the mood for (more) games and fighting. “How was I supposed to know you- you were going to be surprised?”

“What else could I possibly have been, Loki,” Thor asks. “I didn’t know you- you thought of me that way.”

Loki smiles at his brother, pleasantly enough.

“I think of you the same way I’ve always thought of you,” he says sweetly. “But that doesn’t make every single thing that happens between us okay.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Life is messy.

Loki doesn’t say a single word when he gets home.

He can only guess he looks as though he’s not safe to approach because Thor – who rarely misses things like _Loki showing up a solid hour early on his usual late night_ – takes one look at him, grunts _hello_ , and goes right back to his magazine.

Good. He needs to be left alone.

Or something.

What happened at the center earlier still makes him sick to his fucking stomach. Not what he saw, which was pretty much nothing out of (what passes for) the _ordinary_ (in Lokiworld); the guy was a little glassy-eyed, sure, and acting a little more paranoid than he typically would, but it wasn’t anything like the day the kid from residential up and fucking _died_ … and it’s certainly not like Loki hasn’t ever seen a police officer before. No, what got to him was this: the ugly reminder that everyone is one dose, one pill, one needle, one _fuck-up_ from _right back down at the bottom of the hole._

And that’s one place Loki would sooner die than go.

Which, yes, doesn’t put it in particularly elite company.

That isn’t really the point, though.

~

He can’t eat and he can’t sit and he can’t talk and he can’t fucking _stop_ thinking. 

All Loki can manage is to pace tight, frantic circles around the kitchen, lapping the island again and again and again; he knows extending his loop and pacing into the living room and back will just make the crazy too obvious for Thor to ignore.

So he doesn’t.

Things do of course get to that point eventually, even though he’s kept to himself in the kitchen: After his five billionth lap – in his mind’s eye he has worn a deep trench in the floor, his footsteps as unrelenting as water – he looks up and is startled to see his brother leaning against the counter.

“What is it, baby,” Thor asks, voice soft and gentle like he’s talking to a frightened animal. “You seem stressed about something”.

_You think?_

But that’s not really fair; even Loki himself isn’t completely sure what’s really going on inside his own head… not to mention what he wants to _do_ about it. “You won’t yell,” he asks, annoyance sliding off into anxiety.

“I’ll do my best not to,” Thor offers, voice still soft and full of concern. “Please tell me what’s wrong.”

There’s really no reason not to. Hiding the truth will just make him look guilty. Which, for once, he isn’t. “One of the guys in my group- well, he relapsed, I guess you would call it,” Loki tells his brother, still moving frantically around the kitchen. “He missed day treatment today and then showed up to group high. The center manager had to call an ambulance and the police came. I stayed safely away from everyone this time,” he adds as Thor’s eyes go wide, “so don’t worry: I didn’t put Odin on my scent. And nobody died,” he adds, because that seems important somehow.

Thor nods (on one lap) and looks at him oddly (on the next one). “But are you okay,” he asks. It’s not the brightest question, but his brother is being nice; Loki makes a special effort not to act like a jerk about it. Which is not easy, not when he’s still _thisclose_ to puking.

“No,” he says, as politely as he can. It’s probably not polite enough; it will have to do. He takes a couple of deep breaths, and about ten more long strides, before adding “I’m fucking terrified.” More honesty is good honesty? “How long is this shit going to hang over my head? How long do I have to worry that it’s coming for me, before I get to lead a normal life again?” _Holy rhetorical question, Batman,_ he thinks, and _Please, please, please don’t try and answer that one for me. Please._

The tears start, unwarranted and unwelcome, and suddenly he can’t walk anymore.

“I’m sorry,” Thor says (in lieu, thank god, of some stupid, patronizing attempt at a real answer). “Is there anything I can do for you?”

“No,” Loki tells him. Every muscle in his body is tense. It’s difficult to breathe.

That _no_ , of course, is a bit of a lie. He needs to get out of his own head – needs to _hurt_ , needs to feel something that isn’t ugly, defeatist terror – and there are easily millions of ways his brother could help with that one. Especially considering how badly Loki’s own methods have been failing him of late. But after the- well, the _accusations_ he’s made recently, it’s not fair to go there. It’s not. 

Or maybe it is: Eventually he finds a way to navigate the minefield he’s (they’ve?) created.

He _needs_ this. 

Loki looks towards the window over the sink, then down at his own feet. “I- I just need to forget for a little while,” he whispers, half-fearing he’ll shut his brother down right here, at the beginning. He has an _idea,_ a dangerous, risky spark of an idea, and he wants very much to be given the chance to fan it.

Thor swallows audibly, twice. “I can’t hit you anymore, brother, if that’s what you’re asking.”

It is, but it isn’t. There are other ways, after all. Loki nods in agreement. “I know,” he says, and means it. “Do you think you can cuff me up and fuck the living shit out of me, though,” he asks, making eye contact again. “Do you still have _that_ in you?”

~

On (almost) any other day, Thor’s absolutely incredulous expression – as he looks around the dimly-lit kitchen, with its cold, hard surfaces - would be hysterical. "You want to do it _here_ , he squawks, grabbing a towel and making a big show of wiping his hands. "You're sure? You don't want to move to the bedroom," he checks, face somewhere in the mire between lust and horror.

_Oh, Thor_.

All told, Loki likes the way this is going. "It's easier to clean up in here, don't you think," he observes, twisting away from his brother and pushing with both hands against the top of the island.

"Not helping, Loki," Thor chokes out, and Loki can’t help but smile jaggedly through the tears as his brother steps up behind him.

"Ah-ah," Loki scolds, twisting to face Thor. If this plays out too nicely, it isn’t going to get the job done… and this particular job is one which very much needs doing. Without it the stakes rise impossibly high. "The cuffs," he reminds, when his brother just stands there looking dazed.

Thor takes a deep breath. He’s a foot away, maybe less, and Loki has to cling to the counter’s edge to keep from stepping forward. “Seriously," Thor asks, "you want me to tie you up and- and _fuck_ you in the _kitchen?_ " 

"Yes, actually," Loki asserts, chin up. "Is that a problem?"

Thor steps back and looks him over, head to toe and back again. "No," he murmurs roughly, "it's not a problem. Give me a minute to go get the cuffs, then. Oh, and Loki," he adds over his shoulder as he heads off down the hall, voice stronger now, "be naked when I get back."

"Or," Loki asks, cocking an eyebrow. He _does_ like where this is going.

"Or I'll take the kitchen shears to your clothes," Thor says. "Don't test me. If you want to wear what you have on ever again, it had better all be off when I come back in here." 

That’s more like it.

~

Loki makes quick work of stripping.

He needn’t have; his brother manages to be gone practically forever.

"Sorry," Thor says as he finally hurries back into the kitchen. "It took me a while to find these." He holds up a fistful of straps. "You have quite a collection of- of things in there."

"Life gets boring," Loki offers. "I need more."

Thor steps closer, one big hand still full of leather. "So, tell me what it is you want," he says, touching Loki’s face gently with the other one.

None of _that_. "Not your sympathy, brother,” Loki growls, pulling sharply away, “and not your _kindness_ either."

"What _do_ you want," Thor asks again, taking Loki firmly by the throat, and finally they’re getting somewhere.

Loki swallows against his brother’s grip. "I _need_ ,” he corrects, looking everywhere but Thor’s face, “to get out of my head. I _need_ to feel instead of thinking. I _need_ to forget." He swallows again. "I need to _forget_ , brother, except," he complains as he makes eye contact again and catches Thor’s expression softening, "apparently you _can't_."

Thor laughs, and suddenly Loki isn’t sure if he’s winning or losing. "I think there's a fair bit of leeway between here," his brother says, giving his throat the slightest squeeze, "and laying you out with a broken jaw. Don't you?"

"I'm not sure," Loki says, pushing past the tightness in his chest. "Not with you," he adds.

This probably counts as _baiting_. He doesn’t give a fuck.

"That’s the point, isn’t it,” Thor asks, sounding a little as if _he’s_ the one being choked. “Do you want to chance it? I won’t go on if you don’t.”

_Oh fucking hell yes._ "That's an idiotic question," Loki snaps, holding his ground as the first hints of real anger creep into his brother’s expression.

"Fair enough,” Thor retorts. “But that? That's a coward’s reply and don’t pretend you don’t know it. Answer me for real,” he warns, loosing his hold slightly, “or so help me you'll get _nothing_ and like it."

"Fine," Loki spits, yanking free of his brother’s grip. "I trust you not to really hurt me but I hope you actually do," he confesses, clinging desperately to his own anger because it’s all that’s keeping him from sobbing. "Is that fucked-up enough for you? I _need to hurt,_ brother." He swipes a hand across his own face, utterly frustrated. “Can’t you understand that? Can’t you?”

How much more fucking clearly can he spell things out? Seriously.

One small muscle in Thor’s jaw twitches. "Fine. Turn around,” he orders. _Now!_."

~

It takes considerably less time than he would have expected for his brother to get him box-tied. He hums quietly to himself as Thor jerks the last bit of leather tight. “On the floor, on your back,” his brother demands, and Loki’s brain stutters to a stop. “Was that not clear,” Thor repeats when he just can’t get it restarted. “On. The. Floor.”

He drops (ow) and rolls gracelessly into position. Dangerously vulnerable position, actually. Perfect.

And without warning Thor _bites_ him, deep into the muscles just below his ribs.

It’s not what he would have chosen – not even something he would have thought of, probably – but it hits all the right notes just the same.

His brother bites again, a few inches lower this time; Loki screams.

~

When it’s over, much later – when Loki is too hoarse to howl and too gone to do anything but thrash weakly about, exhausted – Thor props himself up on one hand. He wipes the sweat from his face with the other. They study one another, both struggling to catch their breath.

Loki fully expects his brother to call the game off… which isn’t what he wants, of course, but he’s gotten a lot already. If this is how it ends, he’ll take it.

Thor doesn’t.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” his brother tells him instead, reaching up to grab the olive oil from its place by the stove, “whether you like it or not, and then I’m going to fuck you right here on the tile.”

And then he pours a good slosh of oil _directly onto the floor._

_Well, then._

~

Loki whines a little as Thor bends him double, hands around his ankles. He was already steeling himself for disappointment; it takes him a bit to switch gears. Still, to make sure his brother doesn’t mistake his reaction for protest, Loki kisses back as ferociously as he can.

~

Getting back into it ends up not being all that difficult.

By the time Thor finally works a hand loose, making fumbling work of his own zipper and then slicking them both with the spilled oil, Loki’s responses couldn’t be more genuine.


End file.
